


Rain

by Anonymous



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Corpo V (Cyberpunk 2077), F/M, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Richard Siken, Johnny Silverhand Being An Asshole, Johnny Silverhand Has a Body, Post-Canon Fix-It, Soft Johnny Silverhand, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, The Sun Ending (Cyberpunk 2077), i just think his poems are neat, only a little bit, they have it, undying love baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29742723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “You’re gonna have to go eventually, V.” Claire pours the whiskey into the shot glasses, slides them over to her and Panam.V throws it back, swallows the flame down, lets it burn her body for a second.“I know, Panam.” she whispers. The fire burns under her skin. V’s holding out hope that the rain will douse the fire out.She doesn’t wanna burn today.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand & V, Johnny Silverhand/Female V, Johnny Silverhand/V
Comments: 1
Kudos: 60
Collections: Anonymous





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

> “You swallowing matches and suddenly I’m yelling Strike me. Strike anywhere.“ - Richard Siken

V wants to stop remembering. Everything that happened, everything that went sideways. Jackie, Evelyn, Johnny most of all. 

The rain patters on the roof of the car, slides down the windows and collects on the street. 

V wants to stop thinking about them. She wants them to be memories, and nothing more. 

Her fingers tap against the steering wheel. The sounds form a melody that sounds familiar. She recoils when she realizes what she was tapping.

 _Samurai_. 

V places her hands in her lap instead, plays with the rings on her right hand. Silver, just like his. 

V wants to stop. Simply put. 

She’s all alone. No parasite to tease her for helping a monk. No parasite to fall asleep next to.

The windows fog over. They obscure her view of the columbarium. NCPD lights cut through the fog, bathe the inside of the car in a red and blue glow. 

V thought she was better off without him at the very beginning. God, she couldn’t wait to get him out of her head. The terrorist that had slipped in _needed_ to be pried out.

She should’ve cherished that time with him. Should’ve listened to every witty remark and categorized it in her brain. 

V’s all alone. 

She turns the car off, takes a deep breath. The rain doesn’t stop pouring, so she reaches behind her seat, feels around for an umbrella. 

V finds one. It’s bright red. It shouldn’t be bright red. 

_Red reminds her of–_

Mikoshi. It reminds her of losing the game again. The inevitable always wins. She can run and hide, but it always finds her. It took Jackie, and then it took Johnny. 

She takes the umbrella anyway, slides it underneath her arm. She sighs, then she leaves the car. V can’t put this task off anymore. 

Panam’s tried to get her to come here, on more than one occasion. But it’s only been a month since– And V’s not as strong as she was before. 

Well. Physically, she is. Shit, she might even be better off than she was before. Her reflexes are more honed. It’s like Johnny never took over her brain, didn’t push her to the floor of her shitty apartment and slap her that first night they met. 

So, physically, she’s okay. 

If you can ignore the constant sobbing she does at night, the screams she lets out as she cries of Johnny, the overall instability, then you can be convinced that V is truly alright. Everyone thinks so. 

V knows, though. This one visit, this one task, might kill her. She’s died so many times now, but this one might be the _one_. She might not come back from this.

He haunts the columbarium in V’s eyes. She comes back here, the building will greet her with a ghost. With a little box that reads, _“Robert John Linder.”_

She sort of wishes he was a ghost. At least then, she could see him one last time. 

V slams the car door, ignores the prying eyes that watch her as she makes her way towards the entrance of the columbarium. 

A sax player sings underneath the trees. His body is illuminated by the neon cyan glow the map of the columbarium radiates. She hates the glow, the color.

It’s too close to _his_ color, to that shade of blue that followed him around whenever he popped into her line of vision, always taking her attention, never asking.

Johnny never asked for anything. He took, V gave. Until finally _he_ gave. _She_ took. She took her life back. Sentenced him to some unknown, with a shadow that doesn’t know him anymore. 

Her body is on autopilot. It stops right in front of his niche. Her fingers graze over the inscription. _‘A legend among legends.’_

She wanted that, once upon a time. V wanted to be fucking remembered, like all the greats of Night City.

Now she can’t even stand the idea. V remembers everything, and it tears her apart every day. If remembering does this to a person, she doesn’t want it. 

What she wants is–

V places her forehead against the wall full of niches and mementos. She closes her eyes, tries not to cry because she’s spent way too long crying over the parasite that tried to kill her–

She cries anyway. Softly, gently, like a little kid. Her tears bunch up at the bottom lids of her eyes, and the back of her throat stings so painfully. It’s all so painful.

That last thing V wants is for anyone to notice. She muffles her sobs the best she can, places a hand over her mouth and hopes that’s enough to save her from any kind of prying. 

It’s not. 

She’s sobbing and sobbing when a hand grabs her shoulder. At first, she wants to spin around and have the stranger staring down the barrel of her Malorian Arms. It’s tucked into her soaking wet brown trench coat. She could bring it out so quickly. 

Her reflexes slow, like her body knows this hand, knows the body it belongs to. 

“Crying over little ol’ me? Thanks, V.” 

At first, she doesn’t recognize the voice. She compares it to some gonk who would try to pick her up at a dive bar late at night, not realizing he’s talking to the top merc in NC.

And then she realizes. She recognizes the smirk in his voice, the cockiness, and the attitude. She recognizes the mask he puts on, the Rockerboy one. 

_V gives._

“Johnny?.. “ she whispers, tilts her head up the slightest bit. Her eyes might catch his figure in the corner. She’s hoping.

_He takes._

Johnny spins her around, forces her to look at him. She knows she’s a mess with tears smeared on her face, her eyes bloodshot, and her nose feels stuffy along with her throat. Her heart is halfway up her throat. 

And yet. 

He smiles at her, places his other hand on her other shoulder. He’s gripping them both so tight, like she might run away from him now.

“Hey.” he whispers. 

She scowls at him, curls her hand into a fist, and punches him square in the gut. Johnny groans at the impact, wraps his arms around his stomach and clutches at the skin. 

“Shit, V!” he grits, still bent over in pain. V scoffs and shakes her head, “You come back to life and the first thing you say is.. fucking– _‘Hey_.’ Jesus Christ..” she throws her hands up in the air, runs a hand over her face.

That habit she picked up from him comes out. V starts pacing back and forth, ignores the groans of pain that Johnny lets out.

“I’m sorry, _you_ try coming back to life and figure out what to say.” he coughs, puts his hands on his knees. He looks– If V said he looked like shit, she would be lying. 

Despite the face that’s contorted in pain, Johnny looks good. He. 

He looks alive. 

The situation hits her. Johnny is here, alive, bent over with his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath because V punched him in the stomach.

She can’t help but laugh. “You’re such a fucking _gonk_ , Johnny!” she shouts into the air, the heel of her boots scrapping the floor as she paces faster. 

Johnny grunts, “Yeah, I know.” he mumbles. He straightens himself out, keeps one hand over his stomach. “You’re stronger now.” he says. 

She doesn’t look at him while she paces. He might disappear if she takes a glance and then takes her eyes off him for a second.

Her eyes stare at the concrete ground instead. “My body’s stronger now, for some reason.” V mumbles, kicks a stray rock towards him. He kicks it back.

“No shit. Just got a front row demonstration.” the pain strains his voice. Her punch dug deep into him.

So did he, though. He wormed his way into her, took the knife from her hand, the knife she carries to protect her from all emotion, and he plunged it deep into her. He cut her open. 

“Fuck you, _okay_?” she grits, slams her back against the wall full of niches, slides her foot up. Like he did, she realizes.

_Like he did._

Johnny shakes his head, walks closer to her. V averts her eyes, hears his footsteps rather than sees him. “V? Come on, V, just look at me.” he pleads.

He grabs her hand. Her body doesn’t react like she expected it to. She wanted to snatch her hand away, maybe punch him again. But she doesn’t. 

She can’t. Her body doesn’t listen to her again, just like it did when she was dying. When he took over. 

Her hand stays in his. Johnny examines it, flips it over, trails his fingers over her knuckles, “What happened? While I was gone?” he mumbles, his eyes wandering over her. 

His gaze is too much for her. V turns her head, focuses on the blue glow of all the niches. 

“You don’t wanna know. Trust me.” she tells him. A vision of everything she’s done comes fluttering back.

She pulled off the Crystal Palace heist, slaughtered every security guard that got in her way. And when she came back down to Earth, she demanded her treatment with a gun. 

They gave it to her with terror in their eyes. 

Johnny hums, “Alright. I trust you.” he says. His hand is soft. His fingers have tiny cuts and callouses that she can faintly feel, from all the years spent in front of a crowd, playing guitar and fighting corps. 

She turns her head to look back at him, looks down at her hand in his. Flips her hand over, studies the cuts on her own fingers. They’re from different things. All the guns and blades she’s had to block while she made her way up the ladder in NC.

“Just like that? No pushback?” she whispers. It’s so quiet. They’re so quiet. This isn’t how they are. They’re loud, fiery, and they both have an attitude that will get them killed. Again. 

“I’ve learned a lot from you, V. I wanna learn more, if you’ll let me.”

Her mouth opens and closes, she blinks, like if she closes her eyes for just a second, he’ll fade away and she won’t have to confront this. 

Her mouth has a different idea, or maybe it’s her brain, knowing what she really needs.

“Okay.” she says, interlaces their fingers. It feels right, so fucking right that she can hardly believe it. 

Johnny watches her, keeps his gaze on her and her alone. There could be a fucking _war_ going on, and he would still watch _her_. She hates it, hates how he makes her feel. 

He loves her, she can see it in his eyes. All she can do with that is keep it tucked into her heart and soul, hope it won’t fall out of her throat. 

“You’ll have to lose the idea that you’re not worthy. You know the one?” she whispers to him. She barely catches the slight nod. 

Johnny sighs, “Yeah, I know the one. Okay. I’ll try.” he answers. He pulls her into his arms, finally wraps his arms around her waist. 

The rain hasn’t stopped. She doesn’t think it ever did. They’re both gonna get absolutely soaked again, when they decide to put one foot in front of the other and finally leave this haunted place.

His heartbeat, when she puts her ear to his chest to listen to it, is calm. She wonders when he got that way. Calm, like the ocean right before a storm. 

He used to be a match, striking her and setting her aflame. She realizes so quickly that he still is. The look in his eyes, it tells her he would burn her if she wanted him to. That undying love, that lack of fear. _It’s dangerous._

“You’re gonna have to tell me how you came back, Johnny. All the detes.” V’s words come out muffled. Her face is still planted against his chest.

He chuckles, places his cheek on her head. “I will.” he mumbles. 

“When we get home.” 

She heard him say that word once, referred to the apartment as their home. She doesn’t know when it turned into something that they shared. 

His leather jacket. It’ll look good hanging from the hook she has by the desk. 

His black boots can slide in right beside hers. 

She remembers that there’s a spot next to her. One that he took and gave back. 

Now he’s taking it again. 

He smiles into her hair, plants a kiss on top of her head. So soft. He’s never been this soft. Did she change him, or was he always like this and she just never got the chance to see this side of him? 

Johnny takes. V gives. 

She doesn’t mind. She’ll go down without a fight for him. She would _burn_ for him. 

After all, he did the same for her. 


End file.
